Page 8 of What Lies Beneath

He grinned at her, and it was such an unexpected expression her laughter died, and she could only gaze at him.

“Perhaps not meek, exactly,” he allowed. “Even so, I am not an ogre, I think, and I believe you know I am not the wicked scoundrel you once thought me. So, that being the case, will you not be honest with me? Are you happy here, Mrs Harris? Or is your position a lonely one? For I note that you never visit friends on your day off, or ever mention your family. Is there no one you care for, that cares for you?”

Regina wanted to do nothing more than refuse to answer, to scurry away and pretend the past few moments had not happened, but she could not. He was so earnestly sincere, though why she could not comprehend? Still, she thought perhaps she owed him a little honesty.

“I have family. Some I care for but cannot be with, some I dislike and wish never to see again. As for being lonely, no indeed. Tilly does not give one time to be lonely, and so long as I am occupied, I am content.”

That part was a lie, though it was only as she said the words aloud that she felt the depth of the falsehood. It rang out like a strange, hollow ache that echoed inside her. Somehow, she had ignored it all these years, but now it opened like a great chasm. Oddly, she felt the earl knew it to be a lie too, or suspected it, for her answer did not seem to satisfy him. Still, he nodded, and they carried on their tour of the garden.

“Will we be returning to Goshen Court?” Regina asked as the silence stretched on, and she felt increasingly ill at ease. The earl had shown a side of himself that was appealing and very likeable, and she desperately wanted to get things back on a more formal footing, so she knew where she stood.

He nodded. “I have business that will keep me in town until the end of October. But after that we will go home. I would like to spend Christmas at the Court this year. I have found this season rather wearisome if I am honest and look forward to a little peace with my daughter. Do you mind it very much?” Ashburton turned to look at her, his expression curious.

“Mind?” Regina exclaimed, taken aback. “Good heavens, no! I shall be delighted to go home.”

“Home?” he replied, his lips quirking into a smile.

“Oh, I did not mean— I did not think to imply—” she stammered, realising how her words might sound to the actual owner of the property.

“Good heavens, Mrs Harris, do not look so appalled. I am glad to know you think of it as home. I promise you, I do not believe you have designs on my property. I am only pleased that I have finally created a place that feels like a home. It does, doesn’t it?” he added, looking genuinely concerned that he might have missed the mark.

“Yes. Yes, indeed,” Regina replied, for that much was undeniable. “It is hardly recognisable from the property I arrived at five years ago. It is a wonderful home, and the gardens are so lovely. I must confess, as beautiful as Montagu House and its gardens are, I miss it when we are in town.”

“As do I,” he replied, but as pleased as he sounded by her words, he frowned. “Five years? Is it really so long?”

“Actually, it is five and a half years, if you wish for accuracy.”

He shook his head, and Regina noticed how the sun glinted on his hair. It was the palest blond, virtually white, like his father’s, and along with his silver-blue eyes gave him a beauty that was icy, almost untouchable. She had seen him out in public and hardly wondered that people who did not know him gave him a wide berth. The Earl of Ashburton did not invite confidences, his demeanour was not friendly, and yet he’d spent the past half an hour talking to her and teasing her like they were friends. Once again, she felt a flurry of confusion, wondering what it could mean. Whatever it was, it felt hazardous, and she had inadvertently created enough danger for herself with the wretched story she had written. She did not wish to court more. Far better that the earl go back to being indifferent about her. Except that he had never treated her so, she realised. Even when she was appallingly rude to him, he was never anything but polite.

The perfect gentleman… if not for his illegitimate daughter. She could have forgiven him that, she thought, if he had mended his ways. But the rumours still abounded about his lovers. Still, what did she know of men? Perhaps they could not help such behaviour, but if he would only choose a wife and settle down, surely that was a more secure and happier way of living for all concerned? Certainly for Tilly. Not for her, though, she reminded herself. For a wife would mean changes, and might put her position at risk. No, the longer he stuck to his bachelor ways, the better it would be for her.

“If you will excuse me, my lord. I had better see to Tilly. She might be looking for me now.”

Ashburton nodded, making no attempt to delay her, and so Regina bobbed a curtsey and left him there in the garden, the sun gilding his handsome face and putting her in mind of an image of a golden Apollo she had once seen in a painting.

Dangerous, she thought again, and hurried away in search of her charge.

Chapter 2

Dearest Auntie Cat,

I am glad to be going home for Christmas, but I shall miss you and Pops and Grandmama, and Uncle Ciarán, of course. I hope we shall see you all in the New Year. I wish you would all come and live at Goshen Court. How merry it would be if we were always together. For me, anyway. I suppose you would all get vexed with me if you saw me too often. I am so glad I have Harry, for even though she gets vexed too, she is such a dear and never stays cross for long. I hope she never leaves me, for she is my dearest friend and just like family. I wish she really was.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Ottilie Barrington to her aunt, The Most Hon’ble Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane.

15th November 1850, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

Pip paced to the library window and looked out again, seeing nothing but the beautiful gardens and a long expanse of empty driveway. Surely they ought to be here by now?

Irritated, he made himself sit down again, picking up the book he’d been trying to read for the past half an hour. Yet he simply ended up reading the same page over again and still didn’t know what it said.

Though he was delighted to be home, it never felt like home until Tilly and Mrs Harris arrived. Tilly, he amended quickly. It was Tilly he missed, obviously. It was just that where Tilly went, Mrs Harris went too. Certainly, at Goshen Court, where there was little in the way of society to be had. They were his only company unless he took himself out. He had a longstanding association with a lovely widow who was agreeable company for a few hours, but he did not feel he could discuss his family with her. Unquestionably, he could not introduce her to Tilly and spend an afternoon with them both. There were a few families he was on cordial terms with, and two had children of an age with Tilly, but he was always cautious of putting her too much in the way of other children. They could be cruel creatures, and he did not wish to see his daughter hurt for her illegitimacy. If anyone should bear the shame of it, it ought to be he, but he knew that was a forlorn hope. Yet his and his father’s names were powerful enough to shelter her from the worst of it, and only the most obdurate prigs would shun her. Still, that was bad enough.

Setting the book aside, he got to his feet and, before he knew it, found himself at the window again. He fished out his pocket watch, checking it against the clock on the mantel. They were identical. He sighed and told himself not to be idiotic. They would get here when they got here.

He had come a few days earlier to ensure all was well with the house and that nothing had fallen off, down or into despair in his absence. Keeping the place in good order was a constant battle, for as soon as one problem was fixed another took its place. Still, he had come to love the property he had once considered a poisoned chalice, and took pride in the warmth and comfort to be found there. There was still a good deal to do. The rooms that would belong to his countess, for example. Somehow, whenever he decided he really must get them decorated, something more pressing came up, and he set the job to one side again. He was not so blind to his own nature not to realise why. If the rooms were ready to receive his wife, it would feel too imminent, and he would no longer be able to put off the inevitable.

The distant sound of carriage wheels had him looking up and his heart leapt with relief as he saw the carriage bearing his coat of arms and a smart team of horses, bringing Tilly back home.